


The Long Journey Home

by HarcourtHolmesII



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fantasy, Fellowship of the Ring, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I Have Never Written Original Character Pairings Before, I Hope This Is Okay, I Tried For Tolkien-Like Language, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Please don't copy to another site, Slow Burn, Tenth Walker, original character/canon character relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:34:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26962999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarcourtHolmesII/pseuds/HarcourtHolmesII
Summary: Adopted into the Brandybuck Family as a babe, Primrose had grown into a fine woman, but as a human, she was always out of place among her family and peers. The Outsider, her only connections to people like herself were the stories that Master Bilbo and Gandalf shared of the outside world. For many years, she wondered where she belonged and who her people really were, and despite her love for her cousin, Merry, she couldn't contain her discontent with the Shire.One night, whilst on patrol, she spots four, hooded Hobbits ducking into the Old Forest on the borders of Buckland, and in her decision to follow them, she discovers the world beyond the hills and farms of the Shire. Travelling on to Bree and through to Rivendell, she makes a decision that will change the Fate of at least one soul, for better or for worse.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel, Boromir (Son of Denethor II)/Original Female Character(s), Rose Cotton/Sam Gamgee, Éowyn/Faramir (Son of Denethor II)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 33





	1. A Most Uneventful Day (Prologue)

The day was hot and the sun was fair; midday had rolled around faster than Dinodas had been expecting. The golden glow of the sun was masked by a rooftop of leaves, shining through an emerald glow onto the winding path to Bree. Peeking his eyes up, attempting to catch sight of that distant star from beneath his wide, cloth hat, it was about now Dinodas decided to delay his travel. A full day and a half on the rickety cart had all but bruised his buttocks, and he could do with stretching his legs and feeling the Earth beneath his feet again.

With a tug on the reins, and a curious whinny from Rawstock, Dinodas tugged the pony gently to the right of the path and off the road. Not too far, only a few feet away, did he tap his whip against Rawstock’s patched hide, insisting he stop. Once the pony finally came to a halt, Dinodas eagerly dropped off the cart, releasing a hushed sound of relief as his feet met the warm grass and soft soil.

With a gentle pat to his beast’s mane, Dinodas rounded a nearby oak, offering some slack to the rope before tying Rawstock up for the hour. It was a much needed time of rest for both of them, neither of them as young as most Hobbit travellers. With a crack of his back, fixing the creases in his velvet, green coat, Dinodas rounded the cart to peer in at his stock of honey, produce and weed. For a moment, he leaned his nose over the barrel, taking a deep sniff of the root-ish, woody smell. A fine stock it was, such was his pride.

No one would miss just a pinch, and he did so need a smoke after a long day of travelling.

He tucked away his supplies beneath a long, white sheet, tying it down so as it wouldn’t blow away in the wind. With a pinch of weed between his stubby fingers, Dinodas took a seat at the base of a great tree, leaning his back up against it and taking a long draw of his pipe. Immediately, he felt the smoke settle deeply in his chest and swirl there for a moment. He released it between pursed lips, a loop of white smoke twisting through the air before him.

Life was restful and it was perfect.

As he sat there smoking, a distant sound reached his ears. It was not faint, but not near. A young goat bleating perhaps? With a furrowed brow, Dinodas grimaced at his peace being broken by a lost farm animal. He huffed, beginning to scrap his embers clear and being sure to stamp out any loose sparks.

There was that noise again. It wasn’t any closer, but it was louder. As was the sound of barking. Loud, raucous bellowing of a wild dog and the cry of a young lamb, perhaps? Dinodas, a farmer himself, knew of the trouble a dog loose could cause, especially with lost animals. His hand rested lightly over his hip, where his sling sat. In his hand, he plucked up a few loose stones and stepped into the surrounding woods. He followed the ruckus of noise until he came upon a scene no Hobbit would ever have expected to see.

Before him was the sight of a large hound with grey fur and hackles risen. Its maw bore huge teeth and a deep, red stain that followed the fur down its chest and paws. It was standing on hind legs, its front paws against the bark of an elm tree, snapping its jaws at the tree’s only visible inhabitant. A child, a mere babe, wrapped loosely in a grey cloth, sat in a bowl formed by the spread of the branches. Tiny, pale hands were clutching the cloth tightly in a shivering, weak grip, tears running rivers down the little one’s face. Another snap of jaws and the cries echoed louder throughout the woods.

It had been a while since he had done this, and he did so desperately hope his aim was still as perfect as it had been in his youth. A single stone was slid into the sling and with a whip of his arm, the beast yelped as the pebble hit on target. Simply a warning, to try and ward it off, the stone bounced high off the hound’s flank, the great big beast whipping its head around at him. He felt fear rip through him.

A stray, patch of cloth hung from the teeth of this beast, its eyes dark and hungry. Now, he could see how thin the beast was, how he could run his fingers across its ribs. But its paunch was larger. Fattened with its last meal but still hungry for more. And Dinodas had no doubt what its last meal was. This was no creature that could be reasoned with, but without a Bounder, Shirriff or even the Brandybuck militia, he stood no chance against the wolf on his own. He could only hope to scare it off.

It growled a deep and menacing sound, and for a moment, Dinodas felt his trouser may have been growing warm. The urge to run caused his feet to twitch and turn beneath him. For a moment, the idea of returning to his cart and returning back to Hobbiton seemed a very good idea. His eyes travelled up, past the wolf and at the child, who was still crying out how the wee babe’s wide, brown eyes, welling with tears, looked right into him.

He placed another rock, this one larger and sharper, into his sling; for a moment, the wolf seemed to hesitate. Every creature knew to avoid a Hobbit whenever they reached for rock or stone. But this creature was too starved. It charged forward.

Dinodas’ next whip of the sling was quick, and a yelp from the wolf alerted him to his being on target. The creature whipped its head back and forth, blood gushing from a wound in its snout. The wolf snarled at him, whining low in its throat at the pain. When Dinodas raised the sling again, having armed himself with another stone, the wolf veered off, slowly trotting its way into the surrounding woods to hide. Dinodas had no doubt it was watching, waiting for the pain to soothe before it attacked again. He had very little time.

He moved forward quickly; he daren’t run should it attract the wolf again. At the base of the tree, he took to climbing only a few extra feet until he could see the child up close. Such a tiny tot they were, and whilst the screaming had calmed, the tears continued to pour. How long had this little one been here? The smell of iron hit his senses, and he could see the crimson that stained, much like the wolf’s fur, the cloth that covered this child’s form. He felt a heavy weight in his stomach that sat like a boulder at the bottom of a raging river.

Dinodas lifted the little one into his arms and out of the nest of branches, picking twigs and leaves from dark curls. A growl from the trees reminded him of his situation, and Dinodas was quick to scurry back down the tree base, gently landing in the dirt with a bundle in his arms.

Every step back to the cart was a terrifying ordeal. He could hear the wolf still lurking even up to him untying Rawstock from the tree. He cared little for continuing his little ‘adventure’ today, and the trade could wait. The weed would keep, as would the honey, and the vegetables could still be used to stock the pantry. What mattered most, Dinodas wondered, looking down at the babe in his arms, was getting the little tot home. The old Master of Buckland would know what to do.

As Dinodas climbed into the cart, his bones echoing the pain of age, he lay the young babe beside him and started Rawstock home. He wasn’t heading to Bree in this state, and goodness knows what was left of the child’s family. He didn’t have any milk, but the waterskin still had plenty left in it to drink. He would save as much of it as he could for the journey home.

He held the babe close, resting the tiny body in a small, woven basket where his lunch would have been. Resting the picnic blanket over the small body, he felt one of those tiny, clutching hands, take a gentle grip on his forefinger. The babe had stopped its crying, but it looked just as confused as Dinodas was conflicted. How on Earth was he going to explain this to the Master? It wasn’t regarded well in the Shire to go looking for trouble, but they should understand his reasoning. He didn’t want his reputation shook by his decision, but even now, as those tearful eyes shut and the grip on his finger relaxed, Dinodas felt a warm smile creep over his face.

“I’ll look after you, little one. No matter what may be decided… I’ll keep you safe now, little Primrose.” Perhaps it was too early to give it a name, but as the babe took to rest, Dinodas felt his heart warm deep within his chest.

His little Primrose…


	2. In Three Years Passing

Dinodas sat on a small, wooden bench outside the Western front door, taking in the view of the surrounding Brandy Hall courtyard. How the hills and smials around them formed a fine valley, emerald green to be seen for miles in almost all directions.  
His toes waggled themselves into the dirt, the feeling of wet soil soothing to the leathery soles of his feet. He never could understand why many a Hobbit loved the dirt so much, but, to him at least, it made him feel rooted to the spot. And who wouldn’t want to live in such a moment?

Brandy Hall was bustling with folk of all kinds; Boffins, Greenhands, Bracegirdles, Tooks, Hayward, Puddifoots and Proudfeet and the many members of the Brandybuck family. The smell of fine food, and the appearance of all those smiling faces, jovial songs and kind gestures being passed along truly warmed Dinodas’ heart. It was nice to see folk had moved along, at least a bit.

‘Papa?’ The voice was quiet, but the front door had opened ever so slightly. A young girl, no older than four years, with wood brown locks tied back in a flower crown of primroses and daisies, stood there, looking up at him with curious eyes. Following quickly after her, a young Hobbit lad, Peregrin, who now stood near a foot tall, and young master Meriadoc. A couple of flowers were in Peregrin’s left hand, his other held by the fourteen-aged Meriadoc.

‘Sorry. Din’t mean to lose her, uncle Dinodas.’ Ah, Meriadoc had always been a polite one. A troublemaker for sure, and was no doubt passing on his mischievous ways to young Peregrin every day, but he was a fine young Hobbit. Honest, at least, and quite polite. He had been one of the few, even among the members of the Brandybuck family, to take kindly to Dinodas’ decision to bring Primrose to the Shire.

Perhaps it had been how during the meeting with Old Rory, Meriadoc had crept his way over to the cot where she was resting, and immediately leaned his head in to get a good look at the ‘Outsider’. As the discussions were being had between the eldest members of the Brandybucks, Dinodas could hear Meriadoc’s chuckles.

‘What is it, young master?’

‘Why are her feet so tiny?’ He said, gently holding one foot up above the rim of the cot. There was the sound of Primrose’s babbles and giggles at the young Hobbit’s curiosity. ‘And why are her ears so round?’

‘She’s an Outsider, master Meriadoc. Not like a Hobbit, at all.’

‘So… Like Gandalf?’

That got a guffaw of laughter from Dinodas. He had met humans before and Gandalf was very much not like the rest of them. If anything, Gandalf was a troublemaker and disturber of the peace no matter the people he involved himself with. Hand-in-hand with that old geezer’s curious presence, he could manipulate magic and power. Only ancient lore and legend left largely unread by Hobbits described such power, and whispers from Bree traders reached many a Hobbit’s ears when travelling. According to those hushed words, the Grey Wizard shaped the paths of many and how the world worked all around them.

‘No, master Meriadoc. Not at all.’

Dinodas was brought back to the present as Primrose climbed into his lap, already two feet tall and still growing. For a four year old, that was rather unprecedented. Her cot had hurriedly been reshaped into a small bed, but sharing a room with another Hobbit child of the Brandybuck family was out of the question. Her hands were nearly as large as an adult Hobbit’s but she had the curiosity and the temperament of but a toddler.

He sat her up right, huffing a heavy breath at her weight in his lap. There was hushed laughter hidden behind the hands of those two miscreants at his dilemma. For three years he had cared for and loved Primrose, but she was about the size and weight of a young Hobbit just before adult age. It was surreal for all of them, and they had no doubt she would continue to take up space.

That had been one of the many issues pointed out by the elders of the Brandybucks; she would grow too tall, she would be too noisy and clumsy, they would have to remake many items for one of her size as she grew and none of the members of the Brandybucks wish to take her on as a burden. Especially not those that lived closer by the High Hay.

‘Papa? Do you like them? Pippin did them for me.’ Her cheeks were rosy, her smile was bright and warm. Despite how often she was hurried away from the Hobbit children, Peregrin and Meriadoc had taken to her so well. That, and their curiosity about her appearance probably didn’t help matters. Dinodas had no doubt that as she grew, the three of them would be absolute menaces to the Shire. He had heard how young master Meriadoc had already gone and gotten himself bitten by Grip, Farmer Maggot’s dog, for trespassing.

‘My dear Primrose, they are very beautiful. Did you thank Peregrin?’ She seemed stumped for a moment, turning to face her two ‘cousins’, eyes wide with apology.

‘Thank you, Pippin!’

‘And what about your older cousin?’ Heads turned to the golden-locked Hobbit, how his tone seemed actually upset. His smile betrayed him however. ‘Do I not get ‘thanks’? I did the braiding, after all! And it weren’t exactly easy.’

‘Thank you, Merry!’

‘You’re welcome.’ There was laughter deep from within Dinodas’ chest at how Primrose hurriedly leapt from his lap as quickly as she had come, rushing over to the two young masters and reaching around to hug them both tightly. They pet her back lightly, smiles exchanged between them, as they all took off running down the path. Primrose skipped after them, waving delightedly at her father as they passed through the front gate.

Even now, Dinodas watched them pass their way through the crowds, ducking, weaving and dodging the odd pig farmer and cart stacked high with pumpkins. He felt his smile fade, watching how, even after three years, Hobbits left and right continued to part away from each other to allow a wide berth between themselves and the ‘Outsider’. At times like this, Dinodas did question whether returning to Hobbiton with her was the wisest decision; adopting her and taking her in as his only child. He was older than most Hobbits, going on his eightieth year, and taking on the duties of raising a child, and a human child no less, was already causing great stress. His hair had turned from its usual hay colour to a stricken white over these three years, his face careworn and laugh lines defined like molten wax of a candle left to burn for too long.

But that delighted smile on her face as she ran through the crowds of traders and farmers, Meriadoc holding her hand tight and Pippin trailing close behind, he felt it wrong to regret anything. Maybe it was wrong of him not to go looking for her family; still his nights were wracked with horrid terrors of that wolfish beast, the cloth hanging loosely from its jaws. He could remember how, after some travel, he peeled back the cloth of Primrose’s form and revealed her largely unharmed save for a few light scratches from branches and twigs. The blood was not hers, and Dinodas, when informing the masters of Brandybuck, had earned some conflicted looks. At least they had hearts in that sense.

Maybe that was too harsh to say.

He pulled out his pipe, being sure to clean it out with an odd stick before lighting some weed to smoke. A deep puff of the fumes warmed his chest and steered his mind clear of the images that haunted his waking and sleeping hours. He had experienced much too excitement for any decent Hobbit in that single day alone.

Looking out over the crowd, he only managed to catch sight of Primrose once more when a tiny hand raised above the heads of the crowds, and those long, brown locks blew high through the wind. He could already see they were off to ‘have fun’; Meriadoc and Peregrin had taken to teaching her how to climb. It was not decent of any young master, but especially not a young lady. Still, those two had decided she was tall enough to learn already.

He waved back, making a decision that he would hurry to call a ‘rescue party’ of parents should the three of them fail to turn up by lunch time. No doubt Peregrin would get a pinch of his ear and a good talking to, but Meriadoc might get away from it. His Primrose was young though; sure he might have to restrict her time playing with the two of them, but he knew he would cave. He always did.

Damned it all, from Tuckborough to Frogmorton, how he didn’t have the heart to tell her off. She may have been far too curious and a little devil just like her cousins, but she was young and out of place. He could let a few things slide. And who knows? Perhaps one of these days, she might even borrow a few of those lovely mushrooms from Maggot’s delightful crop. He felt his own little mischievous smile work its way onto his face; it had been too long since he had a good mushroom soup, and they always tasted better ‘borrowed’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope you all like it! Again, there will be quite a few chapters of Dinodas and Primrose, growing up in Brandy Hall and life in the Shire. I hope you all enjoyed it and what will come (hopefully) soon. Let me know what you think!
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> HarcourtHolmesII.


	3. The Curiosity Of Outsiders

She could smell the Brandywine from here; the sweetness of those calm waters and the cool wind brought it right to her and where she lay, hiding. Primrose had never been a champion of hide and seek, but she was certain this day, victory would be hers. She had found a perfect spot to hide away from Merry; she had lost sight of Pippin in their sprint for safety.

Primrose laid herself back, resting her body against the wood of an upturned Brandybuck boat. It hadn’t been used in some time; the fisherman had been uneasy with crossing the Brandywine these past weeks. They made mention a few times of the wolves that had wandered closer to the Shire borders; word of strange outsiders, cloaked in green and slipping discretely into the wilds when noticed had caused some gossip among the bounders and their shirriffs. Despite Dinodas’ warning, Primrose could imagine going out to meet one of these strangers. Perhaps they were like herself, and just as lost.

As Primrose had grown in the Shire, even though most spoke of her with hushed words, she had heard their whispers and their opinions on the matter of her place here. She was an Outsider, as the Sackville-Bagginses, a few members from a few different families, as well as a few odd Brandybucks had reminded her. So when word had reached her ears of cloaked Outsiders wandering the wilds beyond the Brandywine and even through the Old Forest (though far less regularly, mind you) Primrose had felt a deep well of curiosity pooling in her heart. Even now, as she lay hidden behind the abandoned boat, her eyes drifted almost in a trance to the East, where she could see the High Hay that bordered along the boundaries of Buckland.

Not too far along, she knew it came to end at the bridge; the route taken by any decent Hobbit folk if they saw to leave the Shire and head to Bree. As of late, however, fewer traders had ridden their rickety carts over the river and fewer than that many, the bounders had taken to shortening their patrols at night. As much as this terrified the other children and had unnerved many of the adults, for her there was almost a growing feeling of excitement. The very idea of catching sight of an Outsider like this, perhaps talking to them; she had to fight herself not to go leaping over the High Hay despite the dangers.

She felt herself stand, as if in a welcome dream, and wander towards the high wall of brambles, sharp branches and the thick blanket of leaves that covered the High Hay. She could hear the Brandywine river’s gentle trickle from this side, how it cut through the Old Forest, somewhere deep between the trees and their ancient roots. She could hear how a breeze was warped into a howl from between those branches, and the groan of the ancient bark, wood and roots. She felt herself on edge.

Having approached the High Hay, her near three foot body could barely see over the rim of the hedge, but every branch that poked visibly through the wall of green was enticing. The same feeling of when she last stole some honey cakes from the Sackville-Bagginses; the excitement of having it all within her reach, but the fear of being caught. How would the clan react; more importantly, how would her papa react?

‘What are you doing so far out this way, little one?’ Primrose nearly leapt over the wall at the sudden presence of another. And not just another, but a voice she did not recognise. She whipped her head around, and from beneath the tangle of locks, she could see a cart had in fact travelled across the bridge, but from the far side. The cart itself was enormous, as was the pony that pulled it. The beast had large, strong legs, with a long snout and a body packed with muscle, behind the beast and in the front of the cart, sat a creature, the skin of his fingers prune-ish and withered, but with a kindly expression on its face. Grey eyes hidden beneath heavy grey brows, further hidden beneath the rim of a grey, pointed, cloth hat atop his head; the lower half of his face was covered in hair, not like the rounder and trimmed beards of any Hobbit gentleman. It was wild, and his clothes were simple.

‘Little one, it is not much polite to stare.’ But how could she not? Whatever this Outsider was, he was an entrancing figure, imposing but just as soothing. She swallowed around a seed in her throat, feeling the itch that called her to talk. She could feel the need to respond to this figure, how his presence alone instilled in her a sense of respect and curiosity.

‘I- I did not mean no offense, sir.’ Her voice was quaking.

‘No offense taken, child. However, I might appreciate a guide to Bag End, if you would be so kind.’ Primrose’s eyes carried their gaze back up to the top of the hedge, feeling a sense of embarrassment to be found so far from Brandy Hall and so close to the protective wall. She shuffled on her bare feet, biting her lip as she thought a response.

She knew of Bag End; most everyone did. She had met Frodo and Bilbo, and had heard many of the stories that shadowed Bilbo’s every step and whilst she liked Frodo well enough, there was something about Bilbo that brought Primrose discomfort, distrust and great intrigue. The stories he told were exciting, but she took note of the odd times his fingers would stray to his coat pockets. They would feel for something inside; much like he was seeking comfort. Every time he did so, she felt her own eyes linger on that pocket for far longer than she intended.

Bilbo had told her the stories many times, but the only times she noted he traced his fingers through his pocket, they had always been the same moments in the stories. How he played a riddles game with the creature Gollum and slipped away unnoticed, his fingers would run over whatever was hidden in his pocket. When he told of freeing his ‘Dwarven’ friends from the Elven prison, his fingers simply ran over the surface of the pocket, feeling the shape of the object inside. And when he talked about his meeting with a great, golden dragon known as Smaug, his whole hand entered his pocket and held there in a tight fist.

Perhaps it was strange she paid so much attention to it all, but she tended to avoid Master Bilbo for these reasons. Sure, she loved the stories, and was just as curious as many of the younger Brandybucks and Tooks, but at nine years, she had heard them many a time. It felt rude and cruel to distrust his presence and to be so curious about random attentions he made to his pockets.

‘Young one?’ That voice broke her from her thoughts, the Outsider having drawn his cart closer, grey eyes twinkling; Primrose couldn’t be certain if it was from curiosity or impatience.

‘Who are you?’

‘Why, my dear, I am Gandalf.’ He seemed expectant of a certain response, but when she did not provide what he was after, he cleared his throat gruffly. ‘Gandalf the Grey, is the name which I belong to. I am an old friend of Bilbo’s.’

Ah, so that is where she could vaguely recognise his appearance. Yes, Master Bilbo had always spoken highly of the ‘Wizard’, and the character of Gandalf had appeared many times through his tales. She honestly thought it all made up, even with how the Hobbits of the Shire spoke about him. She thought him more legend than any sort of reality, and yet here he was.

‘I can take you there.’

‘Thank you, my dear.’ He shifted over in the cart, allowing for Primrose to climb into the seat beside him. Unlike most other carts used in the Shire, this one seemed unreasonably tall, and yet it seemed a better fit for her longer legs, unlike the stumpier bodies of her kin. Just as she had been staring at him though, even though his eyes faced forward, she felt his gaze somehow upon her, just as curious and confused as hers had been.

‘What is your name, child?’

‘P-Primrose. Primrose Brandybuck, sir.’

He hummed, a deep and earthy sound from within his chest. He seemed, despite his calmer exterior, to be picking apart her every word. She couldn’t be certain what to think of the ‘Wizard’; but he seemed a wise creature and a kindly character. The thought did encroach itself upon her mind as to why he may ask directions; especially since he had visited Bag End several times since the incident with the dragon. Her eyes drifted back to the High Hay, and how he had enticed her away from it all. The curiosities of the cloaked strangers and the world beyond the Shire had been all but subdued by his presence. Perhaps he knew what she had been intending to do. Could Wizards see the thoughts of others?

‘It has been to long since my being here; I fear the path is lost to me. Which way might I go, Miss Primrose?’ Her question of his asking for directions was answered, and yet the question of his ability to read her unspoken thoughts remained undisclosed to her.

‘Left at the next crossroads, Mister Gandalf.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and I really hope that you enjoyed this chapter! I would love to hear your feedback and comments. I am delighted to begin introducing some more significant characters to the story, and I am really excited with where this is heading! Let me know your thoughts, please!
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> HarcourtHolmesII.


	4. Several Different Greetings

An awkward, if somewhat comfortable, silence had begun to settle in as the cart pulled down the dirt road and into Hobbiton. Unlike Buckland, Hobbiton was in quite the uproar; passing by the Old Mill, being sure to give a brief wave to Ted Sandyman that was returned with much more fervour than normal, it was not hard to see why.

Hobbits were milling about between houses, all looking a bit frayed, excitable and just as hyper as a child. Some smials they passed had lanterns, unlit in these midday hours, and ribbons of gold and red stretching and arcing over their front doors. Primrose caught sight of a few Hobbits, about her age or younger, attempting to scurry around and into boxes where a faint but intoxicating aroma of honey and cakes of all sorts were sitting and awaiting transport.

Directing the Wizard beside her, Primrose could see the high hill with the winding garden path and a sign hammered to the front gate, stating ‘No Admittance’. Similar to the previous homes, there were ribbons all about, streamers and lanterns and more boxes (though these were wrapped in a rainbow of colours) each topped with a white or gold bow. Overlooking the Party Field, she could see preparations at hand, tents being set up for a long night of drinking, dancing and eating come tomorrow.

Primrose had nearly forgotten about Bilbo’s party; as big of an event as it was, it was one she did not feel invited for. Certainly, Bilbo was kind enough to send an invitation through to the entire Brandybuck family, but Dinodas had noticed her hesitance to go. Sure, most polite folk had gotten used to her presence over in the Eastfarthing, but the Westfarthing and Hobbiton were a whole other world by comparison. The last thing Primrose wanted to be was unwelcome and intrusive.

Halting the large pony just outside the fence, Gandalf slipped off the cart with a grace that bewildered Primrose; a creature of his age should have nearly tumbled from even that short distance. Instead, the Grey Wizard swept around the cart, his robes whipping around him like an aggressive storm cloud; his excitement was palpable. He moved around the pony, giving it a gentle pat to its reddish flank, before making his way over to Primrose’s side of the cart. He offered one withered hand to her; she took it thankfully.

She stepped off the cart with ease, landing on two feet beside the Wizard; her own dark eyes met his, and they shared a similar look of curiosity. However, he withdrew his hand, turning around her to retrieve a great, wilted tree branch nearly his size, and turning to skip up the pathway. It was curious to see such a tall and unusual character skip giddily away from the road, take his stick and hit the front door roughly with its lower end.

‘Go away!’ Primrose barely heard him through the thick wood of the door, for a moment she thought she had imagined it. ‘We don’t want any more visitors, well-wishers or distant relations!’ She hid away a giggle behind her knuckles as Gandalf shot her back a look almost affronted by such a statement.

‘And what of very old friends?’ There was a short stretch of silence before the door carefully and quietly opened. Bilbo’s head of silver hair poked out from behind the door; Primrose almost hadn’t realised she already matched his height despite being a hundred years younger. She shifted uncomfortably behind Gandalf, feeling as if she was intruding upon a private scene as Bilbo stepped out onto the front porch, eyes wide and bewildered.

‘Gandalf?’

‘Bilbo Baggins.’

Simple statements shared between friends, but conveying so much more than Primrose could ever know; the two shared a warm hug, Gandalf stooping down to allow it. There was laughter, joyous and thankful to have met again, and upon pulling away, a few words were shared between them, unheard by Primrose. When Bilbo’s eyes met hers, she could see him stiffen a little, and his smile falter; a feeling of guilt crept over her. She withdrew back and away from Gandalf, towards the cart and its pony.

‘Where is Frodo? I would have expected him to come running.’

‘Ah! He went out to meet you, actually, but you must have come by some other road. There’s no need to worry! He’ll be along soon enough, no doubt wondering how you snuck by him.’ Bilbo smirked, retreating back towards the door, gesturing Gandalf follow him inside. Like that, Primrose and Bilbo returned to their usual habits of avoiding the other as best they could.

Gandalf turned to her address her, but before much could be said, Primrose offered a smile and a wave.

‘My apologies, but Merry will be wondering where I am. I should be on my way, master Gandalf.’ Her leaving was rushed, picking up the skirts of her muddied dress as she rushed down the road. Her nervousness had reached its peak. Again, there was something in the back of her mind, something she could not fathom, that crept into her head whenever she glanced Bilbo’s way. It wasn’t overpowering, but it was… scary.

She missed the look of concern from Gandalf and the appearance of disappointment across Bilbo’s features, but she did not miss the look of surprise and then admonishment as she near collided with a Hobbit woman around the bend in the road. And it was not just any woman at that, but a face she knew to avoid as much as the next Hobbit.

‘M-Miss L-Lobelia. I didn’t mean-’

‘Outsider!’ Her voice was high-pitched and sharp, her glare cruel. ‘What might you be doing outside of Buckland?!’

‘I… I w-was travelling with m-mister Gandalf and-’

‘That old and freakish magician?!’ The squeal to her voice was like that of an obnoxious pig, and Primrose, despite her discomfort, had to force a smile away at the sight that Pippin had told her to imagine. She could recall his words, and how he told her of the roundish snout and that her hair in its ringlets could be pigs’ tails.

‘What on Earth are you smirking at?!’

‘I’m sorry, ma’am.’ She really wasn’t. ‘I mean no offense, but perhaps we should not refer to the Wizard in such a manner…’

‘And why not?! Such an oaf and rapscallion should not be allowed with several miles of the Shire! What might he do? Shoot off some fireworks?!’

‘Well…’ Primrose thought deeply about her response. She wanted to get out of this conversation as soon as possible and hurry her way home. ‘Bilbo said in his stories that Gandalf was able to turn three trolls to stone.’ Not a complete lie… Both Bilbo and Gandalf had their hand in preventing the party of Dwarves plus one from getting eaten.

‘Yes, I’m aware of the story! I don’t see how-’

‘What if he was to turn you to stone, ma’am?’ That got that obnoxious voice to halter. Her mouth opened and closed like that of a frog, as if she was thinking of a way that could not work, but Primrose was well aware that no Hobbit had any idea as to how Gandalf’s magic truly worked. She wasn’t even sure Bilbo did, as he seemed just as mystified by it even though it was he that told the stories.

‘He wouldn’t dare attempt something like that! What a thought!’ But Primrose could see how, even with her nose turned up at the notion, Lobelia looked nervously up at the cart atop the hill and then back the way she came. Primrose took her chance to slip subtly around the barking woman, offering her another few words before taking off.

‘Well, I would still be careful, ma’am. Who knows what the Wizard would do to someone that interrupts his meeting with mister Bilbo.’ She caught sight of Lobelia swallowing around a nervous rock in her throat before she started off at a run back down the path. She could not tell of Lobelia had taken the chance to turn and start yelling at her, but she didn’t stop to check.

Instead, Primrose started her run back over fields and even over the grassy roofs of Hobbit-holes. No doubt, Merry and Pippin may have told her father about her missing, and the last thing she wanted was to cause him any kind of panic.

It would be about halfway to 2 o’clock when she rushed her way through the busy-ness that was Brandy Hall; greeted halfway to the door by a tackle of two Hobbits. Heads of hair, gold and brown, greeted her, as she was gripped tight in a hug between her two cousins.

They laid in the middle of the crossroads for a short time, laughing between themselves before they helped her to her feet.

‘We were wondering where you went off to. Very nearly went and told uncle Dinodas that you had gone missing.’ Merry hummed. He had reached his eighteenth year, compared to Pippin’s eleventh, and yet, he remained as close as ever with the two of them.

‘Yeah. We checked everywhere. Your room, the library, the gardens, the Green Dragon, the kitchen-’

‘How many times did you check the kitchen?’ Pippin’s face became flushed at the interruption and then her tease, Merry looking just as bashful.

‘Maybe once or twice…’ Primrose crossed her arms, one brow titling upward, waiting for the truth. ‘Oi! It was only once or twice… We just spent a little bit extra time looking…’

‘Yeah, you missed out on mum’s honeycakes.’

‘Dammit.’ Primrose felt she had managed to win, but in reality it was always a loss if you missed out on aunt Esmerelda’s cooking. Especially the cakes. She must have made some for the party. ‘How many?’

‘We borrowed one or two…’ Pippin responded.

‘We burgled about eight each.’ Merry chimed.

‘And you missed out on some mushroom soup.’ Pippin added.

‘And some pumpkin pie.’ Merry continued.

‘That… Now that’s just not fair.’ A great round of laughter was shared between all three of them, the troublesome trio making their way towards the left most front door of Brandy Hall. With a wave to Pippin who had to leave so he might not receive a cane for eating more than his due, Merry and Primrose entered the great hall, wandering towards Dinodas’ apartment.

‘I’ve got questions about where you were hidin’, Prim.’

‘And I may have answers, but can it wait until later?’ She gestured to her tangled locks and the mud that caked her dress. Looking back down the hall, she had drawn some attention from fellow Brandybucks who were following the trail of mud she had left behind. The floors must have been newly polished. So much for not feeling guilty. ‘Sorry, I will happily tell you about my hiding spot, but I should really go and get cleaned up.’ She winced, feeling a sharp pain from the sole of her left foot. Since it had all started winding down after her encounter with Gandalf, Lobelia and then her cousins, she could feel the sting of where she must have cut herself along a sharp, hidden stone in her rush back home.

Merry followed her pained gaze to her feet; it still marvelled him how tiny they were. He had yet to travel to Bree with any member of his family, but he had heard how Men, unlike Hobbits, wore cloth and leather around their feet to protect them. He learned from Bilbo and Dinodas long ago that she was not any kind of unusual Hobbit; just a Woman with an unfortunate set of circumstances.

‘You’d best see to any cuts, Prim.’

‘I know.’

‘I’ll see you this evening, yeah?’ She offered him a kindly smile and nod in response, before stepping through the door at the end of the corridor. Said locked area was a piece of Brandy Hall dedicated to herself and Dinodas; a single washroom, with two bedrooms and a study. She turned her way past the study, headed straight for the washroom, having waved Merry off. The brass tub awaited her, the water cold by now, but no less welcoming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting into one of my favourite scenes in 'the Lord of the Rings'; a long expected party. I hope you are all enjoying it and are looking forward to the next few chapters just as much as I. If you are worried we may be skipping over some development, do not worry.  
> Something important I did forget to mention in my notes previously, is that this is both based on the timeline from the films and the books; there will be quite a bit to cover before Frodo sets out, even after the party.  
> I also will let you all know I edited a couple of things from the previous chapters (mostly a mistake of accidentally repeating a sentence once or twice, but I did correct Primrose's age from ten years to nine.) And if anyone who is unfamiliar with the timeline of the books is concerned about the ages of our main pairing, don't worry. There is still a good decade before Frodo leaves the Shire according to book timeline.
> 
> Let me know what you all think! I look forward to any feedback or just comments in general!
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> HarcourtHolmesII.


	5. Perhaps A Welcome Distraction

The party was in full swing by the time the house of Brandybuck arrived. Though it was early evening, the sun had set almost entirely behind the hills, basking the entirety of the Party Field in a warm, golden glow. Already, an orchestra of harps, drums, fiddles and flutes created a cacophony of jovial tunes that could be heard nearly as far as the Brandywine River.

Primrose, restrained in a proper Hobbit dress with fine white trim and lace, had to promise to her father that she would not cause any trouble. Oh, how she wanted to run and play with the rest of her kin, but even now, watching as Halfling boys near twice her age and yet half her height, passed her by, she couldn’t help but feel out of place. She wanted to grab a lengthy reed or stick and with some of the boys, play as shirriffs and chase them about, but no child wanted to play with her. She was freakish. She was strange and an Outsider. No one let her forget that fact.

‘Primrose?’ Dinodas’ voice brought her to the present, one wrinkled hand raised to her face and resting his warm palm against her cheek. It was soothing, and his tired, concerned eyes held her gaze. ‘Are you alright, sweetheart? You seem a great distance from here.’

‘Yes, papa. I didn’t mean to worr-’

‘Oh, no lying to me now.’ He very nearly scolded, but how his arms wrapped around her assured Primrose he was not upset. ‘If you wish to leave, we may.’

Her own, brown eyes looked up at the show of dancing, partnered perfectly with the sound of music and laughter and the smell of rich food. For one night, perhaps, she wouldn’t be judged so harshly for her appearance; with a whole nine years of history behind them, she knew at least the Brandybucks would not be distressed with her being there. And it did still seem that Dinodas wanted to attend. She nuzzled her face into his shoulder; there was the sweetest scent of honey and rich soil. It was comforting and gave her a burst of heat within her chest, warm and welcome.

‘I wish to attend, papa. Please.’ Pulling back from his arms, she noted how he stroked his finely trimmed, white beard, contemplating whether she was hiding her motives. He hummed, before offering her a kinder smile and a kiss atop her head.

‘Very well, sweetheart.’ He offered an arm out, gesturing to the party before them. ‘Why don’t you get yourself something to eat? Or see if you can find master Meriadoc or Peregrin? So long as you don’t get into too much trouble, go out and have some fun. This is a party after all.’

‘Where will you be?’

‘I need to have a few words Old Rory, but I’ll join you for a dance in a little while.’ He ruffled her unruly, oaken locks as a fond farewell, before stepping away and disappearing into the crowd.

The party field was flocked with Hobbits of all sorts; stout and stoorish, Brandybuck fisherman and farmers from all across Hobbiton, extensive families that even Primrose was not familiar with, but for the life of her, she could not trace her father, nor her cousins through the crowd.

She was almost guided through the hustle and bustle by gentle nudges of passing Hobbits and playful pushes by children her age racing between the legs of all the adults. Primrose ended up allowing the crowd to guide her movements until she had ended up beneath this open tent, children of all ages gathered around at the feet of Bilbo himself. He was telling one of his many stories, and it seemed she had just missed the tale of trolls and how they tried to cook him. Instead, Bilbo had started describing his escape from the Elvish kingdom of Mirkwood, and just like that, Primrose was drawn in, despite her discomfort with the gentleman Hobbit.

Unlike the rest of the children, she sat atop a nearby wooden stool, leaning forward in her seat to hear him better. The other children sat in the soft grass, some of the girls plucking at the daisies whilst the boys were talking between themselves as to how they would be never be caught by the trolls in the first place.

‘The halls were vast…’ Just like that, master Bilbo had stolen the attention of them all as he began to tell his tale. ‘Deep underground with tunnels wound tight around roots that had crept their way deep into the earth. It was a realm unlike that of Rivendell; where the kingdom of Elrond was bright and golden, Mirkwood was dark with a cold air throughout it. Where great waterfalls dipped into the valley, far out of sight, with fine rainbows and blossoming trees, Mirkwood was…’ He stopped for a moment, turning his hand as if trying to capture the right words. ‘A dismal place, but just as grand, if less welcoming. The king, though I only saw him briefly, was just as graceful as Elrond himself, if colder. It is like the difference between Spring; warm and welcome, and an early Winter; which I think we can all agree is uncomfortable and you’re already wishing it farther away.’

Many of the young Hobbits, including Primrose herself, could understand where he was coming from. Early Winters in the Shire were fun if there was snow, but when one listened to the conversations between their parents and the adults, it caused great strain on the crops and trade. Among the adults, at least, early Winters were harsh and unforgiving, a picture that all Hobbits could understand.

‘I had to sneak past him and his guards. I heard them share whispers between each other; they spoke of the spiders and how the Prince of Mirkwood himself had nearly saved the Dwarves lives single-handedly. It had apparently been some time since he had been in Mirkwood, having been sent on a quest of sorts long before our arrival. Though fascinating, these were not the words I needed. I had no idea where to look, until I heard a few guards speaking about tasting some wine. I thought it best to ignore and then I remember one questioned the other if drinking wine whilst on guard duty was a good idea.’

Bilbo had paused a moment to take a sip of wine himself and once again Primrose’s eyes trailed down to his free hand. By this point, it had raised to his pocket and was resting there, his stubby fingers grazing over an object within it. She swallowed thickly around a lump in her throat.

‘I never thought I would make it past them, so instead, I followed close behind them. I kept my feet close and shadowed their own footsteps. It was a wonder they didn’t notice.’ The attentions to his pocket were very distracting. Primrose could see that no one else, not one other Hobbit child seemed to notice, too enraptured in his story.

Her eyes were drawn to his vest, and the party that surrounded her seemed almost muted to a quiet buzz. His words were loud but not as loud as his skin running across a kind of metal. She furrowed her brow, trying to concentrate on the story and not on his ministrations. There was something in the back of her mind, a kind of curiosity that scared her. Whatever he had, she wanted to see it. Even more, she needed to know what it was.

‘Primrose?’

She was shocked from her thoughts, looking around in time to see Merry standing beside her, hand on her shoulder. He was smiling, but she could see his brows pulled tight in concern. Turning her gaze from him and back to Bilbo, he was still telling his story, but it seemed out of place. Did he skip ahead?

‘We were in the river, and it was freezing us down to the bone. We couldn’t see the Elves but we knew they were following us on both sides of the river; they were silent, but no one was about to underestimate them after the Dwarves were captured. By this point, it was better to be paranoid and aware then think we had completely gotten away from them.’

Primrose couldn't believe how far behind she was. Her eyes once more fell to his pocket, his hand no longer present there, but she was pulled from her thoughts by Merry speaking with her again.

‘Are you alright?’

‘Y-Yes… I- Sorry, I was just… distracted.’ She knew he wouldn’t believe her words; she only stuttered so much when she was nervous.

‘Hey, now.' His hand on her shoulder gripped her tighter, trying to anchor her to the present and his words. 'Pip and I were thinkin’ we might burgle one o’ Gandalf’s fireworks.’ He grinned mischievously down at her, a devilish glint in his eyes. ‘Care to join us?’ She allowed herself a tense smirk in return.

‘I could do with a distraction.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> First off; I would like to apologise for how long it took for me to release another chapter. I have been extremely busy these past couple of weeks and have had to put this on the back burner. However, I am back to try for a more consistent upload rate.  
> Second of all; do let me know your thoughts on this chapter! I hope to get the remainder chapters focussed around the party out before I potentially get distracted again. I would love to know your thoughts on this chapter!
> 
> Kind regards,
> 
> HarcourtHolmesII.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! I have never written a pairing x original character before, and whilst I know the tenth walker story has been done many times before, I haven't found one that has suited what I was looking for (not to say none of them weren't good!). I love the lore of Lord of the Rings and the world of Middle Earth, and Boromir has always been my favourite character, and I am writing this at least partly because I feel he deserved more than being the only member of the Fellowship to die in such a manner.
> 
> Still an awesome death scene though.
> 
> This will be a SLOW burn, so I'm sorry to say that Boromir won't be around for quite a few chapters. I am hoping I can stick by this story and get this done as I want to do. I hope the plot bunnies don't run away from me as they are prone to do.
> 
> Either way, let me know what you think! 
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> HarcourtHolmesII.


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